


Red Shoes

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:56:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder tries on a pair of red shoes and things take a strange turn...





	Red Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Red Shoes by 'Reesa

Tue, 17 Feb 1998 00:44:45 -0500  
Disclaimers for health, disclaimers for profit!- I don't own the characters mentioned in this story. Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox television own them. I've borrowed them, worked them into a lather and put them back. Don't sue, my bank account consists of a shoebox under my bed containing one Canadian penny and a three inch length of string. And the dust-bunnies bite.  
Archive: Yes, MKRA, if it's wanted.  
Comments, suggestions to <> Flames will be given to a friend, edited for spelling and grammatical errors and returned.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I blame this on a slice of cold sausage pizza, very late at night. It's GOT to be set in some alternate universe, and I make no claims that the persons contained herein would -ever- behave in the ways described. Apologies in advance...

* * *

The Red Shoes  
By 'Reesa

The box was there waiting when he got home. Looking at it carefully, he couldn't decide whether to giggle or call that Bureau shrink. Deciding after a minute to do neither, he found a butter knife somewhere in his kitchen and popped the tape open.

It had been late, and he'd been perusing the upper cable channels like always when he'd stumbled across some cut-rate home shopping network selling shoes. Not just any shoes, of course, not athletic shoes or fuzzy slippers. The set of footwear on his table could probably best be described as "fuck-me pumps", and they were, the shipping manifest swore up and down, a garishly bloody shade of red.

He couldn't quite remember now -why- he'd bought them. Scully would never wear shoes like that, and anyway, she didn't have feet that big. He was tempted to blame it on bad Chinese take-out, but that would have been a lie, and he would have known it.

All through his normal nightly routine, the shoes stared rather accusingly at him, perched on a stack of magazines. A few times, he almost reached for them, but he just couldn't quite manage it.

Somewhere around midnight, after the traditional lets-wake-Dana call, he finally dozed off, draped like a broken marionette over the cramped but comforting expanse of his couch.

\----------------

When he looked down, he was wearing the shoes, as well as a slinky black dress that ended just above his knees. Though perhaps "his" was a relative term, being as how he had a rather impressive chest and it felt as though certain portions of the male anatomy had gone missing as well.

Around him...her, for the sake of accuracy, people whirled and swung to a softly played waltz. People she recognized even, Scully was dancing with Skinner, and X and Deep Throat cut a dashing pair off in the corner. She felt the irresistible urge to dance, and the heels clicked a little in time to the music being played. 

There was someone beside her, touching her arm lightly and asking if she'd like to dance. Turning hazel eyes, Mulder felt oddly unconcerned that the slightly shorter figure of Alex Krycek was there, smiling. Before she could recognize that anything with this picture was wrong, Alex had led them both to the middle of the floor and they waited for the music to begin again.

When it did it was darker somehow, faster. It seemed to have an ethnic flavour to it, almost reminding her of flamenco. Whatever it was, it made a grand excuse to sail over the floor with Alex, and smile the whole time. Mulder had never been a good dancer, but now, her feet seemed to move of their own accord, and her partner never missed a step.

Eventually, she came to realize that one song had ended and another begun, even faster, though by rights the band should have been slowing down. Something else was wrong as well, the background had faded away, and now the floor was dark, and spot-lit over Mulder and Krycek as they whirled around it. There was no one else in the room.

"Wait. I need to rest." The words left her lips, only to be swallowed by the roaring in her ears, before Alex shook his dark head.

"You can't rest Fox. It's too dangerous. Dance with me...one way or another." Green eyes intense as they moved together again, Krycek's arms tightened around her and his hands smoothed over her back.

"One way or another?" Little more sound than that managed to escape before a mouth was pressed over hers, firmly stoppering all protest or question. Far from expectation, Alex's mouth tasted of salt...a lingering spice Mulder couldn't name and something decidedly his own. Without forethought, mouths opened and tongues met betwixt, curling around one another with the ferocity of long held desires.

It seemed in that moment that another dance was indeed pending, the dance of bodies seeking solace in each other 

"Mulder?" A very recognizable voice, tone puzzled, perhaps even amused.

"Mulder, we've got a flight to catch in half an hour!"

Sleep not something that was often welcomed by the lanky man, it still seemed the best course of action to roll over on his side, facing the back of the couch, and mutter.

"G'way Scully. M'busy." His voice sounded gritty, and his eyes certainly felt it.

"I won't even ask doing -what-. I don't want to know why that dress fits so well. Mulder, I'm going to go make some coffee. Get up, get in for a shower...and I promise, I'll never mention this again. Really."

Finally rousing an interest in life, Fox stretched, vaguely, though not entirely, surprised to discover himself in a black dress and the red shoes.

"Um...Scully?"

Muffled and definitely covering something, maybe giggling, his partner's voice returned from the kitchen.

"What, Mulder?"

"D'you think I should shave my legs?"

-Finis-  
(And might I add buh-dum-bum...*groan*)


End file.
